POEMS 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



POEMS 



POEMS 



LEONARD LANSON CLINE 




BOSTON 

THE POET LORE COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright, 1914, by The Poet Lore Company 
All Rights Reserved 






The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. a 



SEP 24 1914 

©CU379634 



TO 

MARY LOUISE CLINE 



All nature is a monument of mind; 

And every man hath eyes through which to cast 

Upon its face the silhouette of mood. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Prelude 9 

Theodora 11 

Gyneolatry 16 

A Day in Arcady 22 

In Spring 28 

The Mystic Woman 29 

Reflections 31 

Darkness 33 

Living 34 

Dream-Island 35 

Despair 36 

Judas-Soul 37 

The Three Dreams 38 

Three Women 39 

Anima Mea 40 

Serenade 41 

Preludes 42 

Sonnets , 44 

On a Picture 50 

My Heart's Song 51 

Roses 52 

Songs 55 

The Miracle 58 

Ysolde 61 

An Old Man's Tale 62 

Night 63 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Realization 64 

The Old Gray Ghost 65 

The Laugh 67 

The Madman 69 

A Wind Blew over the Earth 70 

The Mother of the Trade 71 

Rosetti 72 

Madrigal 73 

Peace 74 

The Hour 75 

Mood 76 

Impressions 77 

Melise 79 

Worms 80 

The Death of Hegesias ' 81 



POEMS 



PRELUDE 

Herein is writ fulfillment of the law 
Stars tell at night, and roses during day. 

God made the world and men and all live things. 
And God put wisdom in the silent stars 
And beauty in the roses. So God took 
The breath of four fair roses, and the mist 
Of four bright stars, and put them in a cup 
Made of eternity and beaten gold, 
Brewing a potent potion of the two. 

Of which, He said, a drop upon the eyes 
Of certain men, and they shall walk about 
Among all men, and they alone shall see 
Deep in the hidden heart of all live things, 
Whereof are men and trees and night and day. 
Likewise a drop of this upon the ears 
Of these, and unto them alone shall be 
Revealed the symphony that all live things, 
Whereof are skies and seas and smiles and tears, 
Join in. And these few shall be beautiful. 

So they shall find them means whereby to tell 
Of this they know unto all other men. 

This I shall not replenish, so that when 
The cup is empty, I shall breathe, and make 
Another world, new roses, and new stars. 

The world is young yet, and the golden cup 
Has yielded but a little of its store, 
Saving enough for unborn men to come 
9 



Like violets in all earth's meadowland. • 
And yet the world is old. And there have been 
Full many men upon it beautiful, 
Who, seeing in the heart of all live things 
And hearing that wild symphony, have seen 
Happiness clasped with Sorrow, and have heard 
Pleasure that sings in company with Pain. 

And of the brethren of the golden cup 

Some have been known abroad and famed, and some 

Have taken lowlier ways in loneliness, 

Speaking perforce, but finding among men 

No ear to listen — happy still, to know 

Their kinship with the roses and the stars. 

Herein is writ fulfillment of the law 
Stars tell at night and roses during day. 



TO 



THEODORA 

So now thou comest, lord! Perchance 

To gloat on this accomplishment 
Of thine, as when thy gilded lance 

Accosteth harts whose frail intent 
Is of cool forest, sun aglance 
Through leaves on flowers to enhance 
The crimson violet, or adance 

On wooded streams of light content. 

Look now, hath ere so fair a hand 
Lain close around the goblet's gold? 

A hemlock grown in distant land 
Hath yielded up what sages sold, 

This potion viperous; thy wand 

I made bade slaves to understand 

And bring me this; and here I stand 
To die — thy queen, but overbold! 

For that I gave my lips to thee 

My heart was shent of warmth, being thine 
And it was dire asymmetry 

To kiss a dream and make it mine! 
Hath Timotheus come to me? 
Lord, lord, there have been more than he! 
Perchance I die — so let it be; 

As sharp as sweet's the eglantine. 

Nay, lord, I see thy angering; 

Be not enraged; the fault was when 
May happiness had bade me sing 

That April time; for it was then 
Thou first didst see me, and didst bring 



ii 



Me to Byzantium, thou a king! 
And now I've done this scarlet thing, 
And made thee crimson before men. 

Perchance — dost thou remember now 
That day? Yet nay, thou hast forgot. 

I lay adreaming, sang of how 

I loved my love, though knew him not — 

My love, clean limbed, of lofty brow; 

A beggar would suffice enow! 

A slave, could he a heart endow, 

Nor wealth nor but the humblest cot! 

And then along the dusty road 

I saw, though scarcely moved my head, 

Where armored men their steeds bestrode — 
A band of princes garlanded 

With victory's fruits my kinsmen sowed 

Before they came and overrode 

Our Lydia. Thou wast their goad, 
Arrayed in safety and in red. 

Thy queen was then a simple maid 

Who knew but sixteen years, no more; 

Who looked upon thee unafraid, 

Unwitting of the wealth she bore — 

The gold within her golden braid; 

The jewel of her eyes' soft jade. 

She knew not in the pledge she made 

Thy queen would once become thy whore. 

So simple was thy queen, my lord ! 
She only dreamed of double bed; 
She ne'er had viewed a gleaming sword 



12 



Nor looked on men so favored; 
And thou their leader madest word 
Of queenly graces to be poured 
Would she but follow. Good my lord, 

How could she know thy heart was dead? 

So came the marriage and the feast 

Of delicacies curious rare; 
Thou hadst not wearied of my breast 

Nor of my lips nor of my hair. 
And every prince that was our guest 
Did homage me at thy request; 
For thee, my kiss; for me, thy best — 

Byzantium's best; the bargain's fair. 

My lord, I made a goodly queen, 

While I was loved and loved my life; 

And potent princes thou hast seen 
To kiss my hand, forgetting strife; 

Full half thy sway and kingdom's green 

Of land and meadows intervene 

To cry at thee what aid I've been ; 
But I am not a dutious wife! 

Thou knowest still I might be love 
Of thee alone, hadst thou loved me; 

That passion in me hath but moved 
When age's chilling moved in thee. 

Look, here's my robe, the hem thereof 

I take; white Aphrodite's dove, 

Look, here's my body! Did it prove 

Thy cheek's one blush such thing to see? 



13 



Nay, lord! Love is a passing thing, 
And love in thee hath passed and sung; 

And thou wouldst have no sweet to string 
My heart's soft lyre thou hast unstrung! 

No lips unto my lips to cling; 

No breast upon me quivering; 

No solace in my sorrowing 

For love's own pinions swift outflung! 

In sooth had I my dignity, 

Thou sayest, and my virtue's white; 
Lord, canst thou say for chastity 

Thyself hath barred thyself at night? 
Hast known no woman saving me? 
Lord, I have come a maid to thee; 
A woman now, eternally 

Forbidden further due delight? 

Sweet Timotheus who is dead 

For that he found the eager way 

Soft afferent to my heart, and said 

What fair thing thou couldst never say: 

"I love thee!" — had upon thy head 

And empire no design. Misled, 

We deemed it through thy life-blood's red 
To find one unendangered May. 

Sweet Timotheus of my heart! 

Good lord, my lord, I love him still, 
And sooth have no desire apart 

To live a life unbearable! 
Nay, lord, this draught's a pleasant start 
Of life anew in death, to part 
No more with too untasted art 

Of kiss returned and loving's fill! 
14 



Yet stay awhile, my lord, with me, 

Though rage thy pale cheek doth inflame, 

The virgin blazing sun to see 
Set slowly to a glorious shame 

Preceding death immediately, 

After a day's white chastity; 

Therein dost mark analogy? 

Like shame is mine; not mine the blame. 

Hard Nature gave the sun its heat 
And placed it in the heavens aright, 

Yet doomed it after sunset sweet 
To perish for the hooded night; 

And thou hast made a maid complete 

With woman's quicker pulse's beat. 

Yet destined hemlock to defeat 
Satiety of her delight. 

Of whom the evil then that I 

Have found death love's concomitant? 

Lord, lord, a woman ere must die 
Within this world till gods supplant 

The law of lust and prurient lie, 

Man-made by men beneath the sky, 

That giveth men divinity 

And women death through sworded cant. 

What lord! Thou wouldst depart from me 
That vilified Byzantium's name? 

Nay, stay and watch how merrily 
I quaff thy vengeance goblet's flame! 

Thy queen, of stained chastity, 

Hath proven true woman she may be 

Who rose above hypocrisy 

Triumphant in her damned shame! 
15 



GYNEOLATRY 

Love thou the Lord thy God with all thy heart 
And all thy soul and all thy body's might, 
God sayeth, and the Christ of pale delight 

And Ghost that is their jealous counterpart. 

The candle's dim, and in all reason's art 
I find no succor in my stark affright 
Of conscience cold within the haunted night 

Of fingered phantoms banefully astart. 

The Day's conceived in pregnant Nature's womb ; 
The prophet cock doth cry harsh heraldry 
Of travail that the shrieking owl doth see 

On high, where Day's birth doth dispel the gloom, 

And pallid Night is laid within her tomb. 
And all the Hours are pacing weightily 
In slow parade, and each deviseth me 

Insistent thought of her about this room. 

Sure God hath seen her seated in this chair — 
Jehovah that is mighty and is fierce! — 
Day apprehending dusk, at mellow tierce; 

And surely God hath noted she was fair! 

Dear Lord, there were sweet blossoms in her hair! 
And thou omniscient that mayest pierce 
All hearts, in her heart thou hast seen the tears 

Unborn, awaiting sorrow or despair! 

Dear God, I cannot drive her gentle thought 
From me, though at thy knee sad suppliant; 
My heart within her memory doth pant, 

And of her loveliness am I distraught! 

Each night-wind's breathing unto me hath brought 

16 



Soft perfume of her presence as a plant 
Of roses near, and thou art adamant 
Of love, and I would pray, and may say nought. 

Perchance thou seest what I cannot see 
Because I am but mortal, yet may know, 
How soft she slumbereth where breezes go 

Her window through in elfin venery 

And wanton o'er her nescient chastity, 

Nor haste her timorous pulse's ebb and flow; 
Lord God, she loveth me who am below 

And strive that I may love thee properly! 

Lord Christ, it was the springtime of my life, 
And all the wood aflood with even-song 
Bird-throated, and the path I trod along 

With scarlet roses reverently rife; 

First time I saw her, queen of lissom strife 
For favor in her hair light winds among, 
And every jasmine blushed to think her wrong; 

She dreameth now of me, and is my wife. 

Love thou the Lord thy God with all thy heart! 
Nay Lord, my heart is where her heart doth move 
Unwitting in soft dreaming of our love, 

With open lips aflush where kisses start ; 

And hath but hollow grievings that impart 
This poignant terror, and because thereof 
My soul doth gaze stare-eyed at night above 

And winceth with thy objurgation's smart! 

There doth she stand at advent of the night 
Awaiting thee where fair's the view afield, 
Nor by thick lilac tree thou art concealed — 

So sayeth Memory and is not contrite; 
17 



There doth she stand and singeth she aright 
Of love's soft answer by a flush revealed, 
So fair, when to fatigue thyself would yield! — 

Thou knowest I cannot love thee as I might! 

Harsh God of grim impossibilities, 

A stranger in thy dim serenity, 

Can thy remote affections ever be 
More sweet than is her tenderness's peace? 
Heaven were a sorry place of little ease 

Were she not there to sing thy songs to me; 

Thy paradise a pale infinity 
Of loneliness did she not bring surcease ! 

Lo, I that was thy humblest penitent, 

That kissed thy precious body's blood, and said 
The loving words thy Peter ordered, 

And went my pious way and continent ; 

Lo, I that have thy devotee's intent 
Of kindly deeds from sin dissevered, 
Forsake thy supper for her lips more red, 

And seek within her heart my heart's content! 

Lord, save me for I perish! Thou hast heard 
The cry upon that gray tumultuous lake; 
And I am smitten with a desperate ache 

Of icy waters conscience' tempest stirred ; 

And I am living though in tomb interred, 
And famishing, and I may not partake 
Of sustenance! Lord, pity me, and slake 

My anguish with a word, dear God! one word! 

And there's the dawn, and like a babe acreep 
Upon the soft maternal lap of Earth; 
And like a lusty babe awail at birth 
18 



The plaintive birds unknowingly do cheep! 

So like a father that hath wandered deep 
In momentary hell of poignant mirth 
Soul-seared, for all the mother's woman-worth, 

Now wearily may I encounter sleep. 

He sleepeth; day declineth unto death; 
Night's gentle foot-fall scattereth the dusk 
As dust is scattered on a country way; 
And when the first star's out, he waketh then, 
Again returneth to the anguished room, 
And taketh his fair lady to his kiss, 
And leadeth her, and kneeling both upright, 
He speaketh thus: 

Lord God, Jehovah of the loving heart, 
I see thy divine wisdom in the trees 
That in the ministry of every breeze 

Are wedded sacredly; and in the hart 

That mateth with the doe in marriage mart 
Of reverent wood; and in the boundless seas 
Whom rivers' soft caressing doth appease, 

That join in unity no time can part. 

Sweet Jesus of redemption and the rood, 

Incarnate for ingrate humanity, 

Thou knowest how two hearts may one heart be, 
Hast seen the law and hast proclaimed it good ; 
How man was made a weakling, how there stood 

At his right side a woman tenderly, 

And how the twain in lasting sanctity 
Become a perfect one of soul and blood. 



i[) 



Thou gentle Ghost, soft mother of the creed. 
That spakest unto Mary's virgin ear; 
Hast deigned unto the twelve to reappear 

In wisdom, why the Christ should fall and bleed 

From whose cathedral breast thy children feed; 
Thou clement God of mercy, not of fear, 
I speak my love to thee and thou dost hear 

More sweet, that I am twain of Adam's seed. 

For I have slept and mystic breaths have blown 
My soul on lotus lightly laden feet 
Through vast eternities of psalming sweet 

Seductive to my spirit's bitter moan, 

That only they who travail can have known; 
And of eternal wisdom did I eat, 
Standing among white seraphim complete 

In heavenly chorus round thy diamond ihrone. 

Dear God, thy infinite benevolence 

Hath covered me with blessings manifold, 
Who knew no matter of thy scepter's gold 

But labored in dim woful ignorance; 

And thou hast filled my soul with all contents, 
And thou art gracious softly to unfold 
Thy deity in her whom now I hold, 

In her that I might find true sustenance. 

Dear God, thou madest man, and in him grew 

The destined heart for laughter and for love; 

And thou hast given me, forethought above, 
Her in whose worship love I thee anew ; 
And there hath been no anger in thy blue 

And all thy clemence thou art fain to prove; 

And thou dost never ask, because thereof, 
Such foreign thing no earthly man can do. 
20 



Love thou the Lord thy God with all thy might! 
Dear God, thou gavest me to accomplish this 
Within the soft observance of her kiss, 

And all my prayer in her pure delight; 

In her am I with continence bedight ; 
And my affections are not spent ?miss 
Though love for thee can never be as is 

The love I have in her I love aright. 

For we twain are as one and love as one ; 

And I who deem her high above thy thought 

Love thee through her; and all our love is caught 
In one sweet offering by each begun, 
Yet joined in unity that never's done, 

And thus is thine, and thee displeaseth naught! 

So loving thus, sometime shall we be brought 
To thee approved by Jesus Christ thy son. 



21 



A DAY IN ARCADY 

One time when weary work was done, I lay 
In twilight shadows, resting after day; 
It seemed I soared a wood, and sailed a sea, 
And wandered in the fields of Arcady. 

Dawn. 

With the first paling of the eastern dark, 

A wood-bird at his matinal ; and hark! 

A thousand voices thrill the clear refrain 

In untaught harmony — then still again 

They leave the woods. The cascade's gentle call 

Lures softly in the silences; and tall 

And grim and warder-like, the oak trees raise 

Their massive arms to heaven, until the maze 

Of interlacing limbs is lost among 

The rifted night-clouds. Now the light outflung 

Before the golden-glowing god of day 

Across the distant hills, is spreading gray 

Upon the towers of night. The winds from play 

Have ceased. A quiet settles, like the hymn's 

Low cadence leaves, when tremulous it dims 

And wavers unto death within the nave 

Of lofty, Gothic, arched vaults. And save 

For your heart's gentle pulsing, this might be 

A world death-marked with mute serenity. 

Ah, look! how from the lake a mist is breathed, 
That lies so quietly with shadows wreathed. 
Not long ago, within this quiet pool 
We marked a lily, like a jet-bound jewel; 
And now wan in the mist the flower lies 
Like its star-sisters in the whitening skies. 
22 



The gray has turned to fairest blue, dear love! 

The blue to lavender and pink and gold 

And flaming scarlet in the east above 

The purple hills. And one by one unfold 

Their sails gay vagrant clouds that float along 

Like ships upon a turquoise sea. The song 

Of glad rejoicing breaks again in free 

Ecstatic joy, from soaring birds that see 

The life-god ere his tremulous first gleams 

Come glinting through the trees, and with quick 

sparks 
Of diamond fire, as brilliant as in dreams, 
Touch dew-drops pansy-set. Then with the lark's 
First note, heard faint from where he wheels in play, 
The wood-winds waken to another day. 

Ah come, love, from the scented flower-flung bowers 
Along the path with me, where tree tops bend 
To make an emerald canopy. Night's hours 
All kiss-bejewelled, must needs make an end; 
But you and I upon these hills may rove 
And see a new world, born from our new love. 

Noon. 

I weary of the sun. And see, the trees 

And flowers droop languid, fainting. Even the 

breeze 
Is feverish and pallid, whispering low 
Within itself of amber seas and slow 
Unbroken waves, and sodden, febrile reeds, 
Fetid and clammy. Mark the sour weeds 
Alone that still stand boldly, all awry 
In grotesque spiked figures. The dull sky 

23 



Has lost its azure, fading into weak 

And lifeless drab. The aspen's parched leaves speak 

In agony and torment; and in pain 

From earth leap phantoms up, to fall again. 

Even you, dear love — even you are listless, and 
Your hair is moist and clinging; your hot hand 
That yesternight was cool, and from my brow 
Did charm away love's fiery throbbing, how 
Perspiring, limp, it lies within my own! 
As if the fever from my senses flown 
Had settled there in your small palm. Your head 
Rests on my shoulder still — cruel mockery! 
That plays fatigue for tenderness! I see 
The rose I plucked for your dark hair is dead, 
Yet lies therein all withered, frail stem bent 
With weariness. And oh, its heavy scent 
Comes sensuous and sickeningly sweet, 
Dreamful like hashish, with the selfsame breath, 
Enticing life, though savoring of death. 
The dainty sandals on your tiny feet 
Are ashen with the gray dust of the road 
That we have trod, and as each were a load 
Of lead you lift them, so they scarcely rise 
Grass high above the path. Your hazel eyes 
Stare glassily and dull, and when you close 
The lids, they are the purple of your rose. 

Ah, the pale sickly mist that dims the deep 
Of heaven lures to swooning, not to sleep. 

Cold drops of moisture on each sunken cheek 
And on your pallid brow stand out and speak 
Impassively, of your impassive breast 



24 



And soul unto unconsciousness addressed. 
I whisper, "Love! my love!" — and only sighs 
Reply; not heart-warm lips, or hands, or eyes. 

Well, we must stop. I'll find a bower where 
The heat is lessened somewhat, and the air 
Hath less of death and more of life ; and while 
The sun sinks you may sleep, and wake asmile. 

Twilight 

The heavens are silver gray. Each little star 

Peeps shyly from the height where wind-ways are; 

Peeps bashfully, a moment hesitates, 

Then dim and twinkling, friendly night awaits. 

How pale the moon is still that hangs so low 

Within the east, half fearful of the glow 

Of sunset in the radiant western sky! 

A maid at twilight when her love is nigh. 

The sun has sunken; as the shadows fall 
The forest birds chant day's recessional. 

So wistful and unreal is this wan light! 
Thus artificially one stages night; 
And all the woods and low hills far away 
Are like the painted scenery of a play. 

All seems unreal except your lips, dear love, 

That cling to mine so fondly, while you lie 

Enfolded, in my arms. Heaven's dusk above 

Is not one-half so tender as your eyes, 

Where heaviness of slumber and the mist 

Of dull fatigue are fled. Your cheeks, dew-kissed, 

25 



Are cool again. Thus in my arms you spent* 
The afternoon's long hours, while slumber lent 
For each from its deep store of gentle dreams 
Your lips a flower, your eyes these brighter gleams. 

See how our path awaits your pretty feet 

To strew its breast with foot-prints wondrous sweet. 

And from the deeper woods the cascade's call 

Comes luringly, where frothing waters fall 

Adown the rocks into the quick embrace 

Of our fair limpid pool, that yearns your face 

To touch with cool caresses. Ah, each drip 

Of waters that between your fingers slip 

Becomes an opal jewel, until it gives 

Its wonder to the lake in which it lives. 

The lonely woods are calling us, and yet 
You falter! Can it be that you forget? 

Ah, no! Each separate twilight shadow brings 
A separate memory, that lives and sings 
Within your wakening soul ; a kindred chain 
In that they spring from love, yet in sweet pain 
And wistful joys that still unsatisfy 
All different like the stars within the sky. 

And still you bear this glance, this smile that leaves 
The thought, for some sad hidden cause you grieve! 
I take a step, and you remain just so, 
In silence. Dearest love, do you not know, 
Do you not understand that I must pass 
Forever farther, where the dew-tipped grass 
Betokens our fair way? May never turn 
To follow you, while yet my heart may yearn? 

26 



The shadows lengthen. Still you stand; your head 
Is bent, where on the ground your rose lies, dead. 

Dear love, you are so dim to my fond eyes! 
As though a chilling mist from out the skies 
Had fallen over you, in all its white 
And clinging folds, so ghastly in the night. 
Is there no answer to my call? Upon 
The spot pale moonbeams fall, and she is gone. 

Ye lonesome dreams, how eagerly around 
From woods and shades you cluster, dismally! 
Ah, stand aside, that I may clearer see 
Where she has been, and bless the memoried ground. 



One time when weary work was done, I lay 
In twilight shadows, resting after day; 
It seemed I soared a wood and sailed a sea, 
And wandered in the fields of Arcady. 



27 



IN SPRING 

How withered all the flowers lie! 

And all the garden's bleak with frost! 
And though 'tis May, the curving sky 
Is canopied with clouds across. 

And there has come a bitter thing — 
The snow in spring! 

Quite like another spring it is — 

The spring frost-ridden in my heart; 
The May that flowered with a kiss, 
Perhaps predestined, lips apart, 

To witness such a mournful thing — 
The snow in spring! 

We kissed indeed, yet have we kissed? 
Of kissing though our lips were fain, 
Commingled could our souls have missed 
Communion, and the kiss be vain? 
For there is this unheard of thing, 
The snow in spring. 

A month ago the sun was bright 

And kissed the brown earth eagerly; 
Where was the evil? Spring's delight 
That followed, followed gloriously — 
Until there came this barren thing, 
The snow in spring. 

Ah well, perhaps 'tis nature's blame, 

This frosted May, these bare stems bent 
With withered flowers, her flowers the same,- 
And I who try to be content 
With even such a bitter thing 
As snow in spring. 
28 



THE MYSTIC WOMAN 

She came all clothed with mystery. 

Deep in the darksome night, 
When wakefulness had victory, 

And sleep had taken flight. 
She came and sang a song to me 
Of love, and crimson lips, to be 
My own through all eternity — 
Then vanished from my sight. 

And when the day had followed dawn, 

And I arose from sleep, 
Though far the vision fair had gone, 

Her image lingered, deep 
Engraven on my mind, yet drawn 
With blurring colors thereupon, — 
The sunset flush along the lawn, 

The sunrise on the deep. 

And finally I tried in stone 

To fashion such a shape 
As might recall the mystic one, 

And all her misty drape. 
Then when I finished, all alone 
I viewed the figure carved of stone, 
And saw my inspiration flown — 

And yet I stood agape. 

I placed it where all men might see, 
And they were mute in thought, 

And wondered what the form might be, 
And knew, and yet knew nought. 

And so they came and questioned me, 



29 



But I knew not — -my memory 
Just told me that it was not she — 
And yet was she I sought. 

For somewhere, in her placid face, 

And in her comely head, 
I saw a slight resemblance trace 

The scarlet in rose red. 
And as I scanned her frozen grace, 
Her lifeless, marble, staring face— 
I shuddered, and I quit the place- 
She seemed so weirdly dead ! 



30 



REFLECTIONS 

Well, she is dead now. Better so, 
Than to have seen more weary years 
Come full of promise, that would go 
And leave her only bitter tears. 

They laughed when first she came to me — 
'Twas winter; I remember well 
The wild, wind-driven night . . . and she 
Is dead now, and has gone to hell. 

So they would say; but scarcely they 
Could know her as I did. I knew 
The soul that struggled, one fair day, 
From ashes, and was born anew. 

And so I took her. Oh, the time 

Was short! . . . Her cheeks had grown so red! 

Her smile, so womanly sublime! . . . 

And yet, 'tis better she is dead. 

I never saw a spring so rare 
As this one dawned! And now 'tis fall; 
The perfume of the mild May air 
Within a night is autumn's gall. 

They laughed at me, too. Well, I see 
Why they all laughed, nor do I blame 
A one for laughing. Were I he, 
I would myself have done the same. 

They could not understand, that I 
Came last, and was the first to come; 
Love sang so sweetly in her sigh 
For me! — and for the rest, was dumb. 
3i 



Thank God she never saw the sneer 
Through every smile. She loved them all. 
I told her, so she banished fear . . . 
She lived to come when I would call. 

'Tis better that she lie there dead . . . 
It might have happened in a day . . . 
And God was only kind instead, 
To take her — and the child — away. 



32 



DARKNESS 

Within dim shadows, so it seems, 
I lived my childhood life of dreams; 
And then — a moment — searing beams 

Of light; and when the warmth had gone, 
This darkness, distant sobbing streams, 

A quicksand that I walk upon; 
This chill, out-agonizing dawn 
When dismal birds chirp, on the lawn. 

Late in the morning, still abed, 

I lie a-wearied, and my head 

Is filled with dreams, that I were dead — 

And then indeed I live, for I 
Pretend that God, whom they have said 

Is good, has set a corner by, 
Somewhere, where I can rest, and sigh 
Alone — and no one comes to buy. 



33 



LIVING 

I dreamed you died, and, weeping, all alone 

I roamed a wilderness. God to atone, 

Stilled woodland rills, and bade the swallows cease 

Their carefree singing; yet I knew not peace. 

I dreamed you lived. Together, hand in hand, 
We took our way; and God gave kind command 
That Nature smile upon our joy, and sent 
Us singing days; yet I was not content. 



34 



DREAM-ISLAND 

Far on a turquoise unknown sea 

An island lightly lies; 
And there wherever the palms may be 

A wandering zephyr sighs; 
And blossoms bedeck each verdant tree 

All under the smiling skies. 

There waves rush high on the warm white sands 

At play with the gay sunbeams, 
Aleap at the touch of their fairy hands 

Till the murmuring sea all seems 
Like the golden sparkling lakes of the lands 

We visit at night in dreams. 

And there when dims the gathering night, 

The moon on silent wings 
That have for feathers filmy light, 

The stars and quiet brings; 
Till the stars are spread in the wistful height, 

And the wind in the roses sings. 

Ah, I would that the days were not so long! 

That I alone could be 
Where the waves are singing their sleepy song 

To the island on the sea, 
Where love is right and a kiss no wrong! — 

Alone, save only thee! 



35 



DESPAIR 

Dishevelled scavenger of destiny, 

With slender maiden-hands in place of claws, 
Whose gibbous flight above humanity 

Precedes the sudden swoop when Pain withdraws 
Red-eyed my coward bird of carrion, 

You follow Fortune who but strikes for lust 
•Of blood; and slow you end what is begun, 

The ceaseless rendering of dust to dust. 

My heart has been your banquet ; I have felt 

Your vulture-grasp upon my forehead, gray 
And cold beneath the blow that Fortune dealt. 

And oh, your hands were soft, as if to say 
"Rest," while you plied your beak voraciously. 

Ghoul, with your pinions beating to a sigh, 
Go to cheat others as you cheated me, 

Of all peace Fortune leaves us, ere we die! 



36 



JUDAS-SOUL 

Love, love of all my heart, upon your face 

I struck you once with febrile words unsound; 
And once I cast a blossom on the ground 

Though of its fragrance had I no distaste. 

Once in a mood tempestuous I placed 

My God on ashes, gathered there around 
Loud laughing men and women boldly gowned 

Of Satan; then did I my God disgrace. 

Sometimes I think that Judas who within 
The sleeping garden of Gethsemene 

Did hang himself, remorseful of his sin, 
Unto an olive bough, hath given me 

His spirit, so I breathe in every breath 

Sure anamnesis of that Judas-death. 



37 



THE THREE DREAMS 

I slept, and dreamed of day, and lo! mine ear 
Caught distant numbers that I strove to hear 
Until I woke, aghast, for it was Fear. 

And then once more I slept, and lo! again 

With chastened shades of twilight, came a strain 

Ah, wildly wistful! Thus I welcomed Pain. 

I wept. The moon came, guiding from above 
Blind, gentle night, and as a soft-voiced dove 
Came one who sang to me, and it was Love. 



38 



THREE WOMEN 

I saw three women in a winter's day ; 
And one had golden hair, 
And eyes of blue; 
Her breath came shuddering from the death that lay 
Within her bosom fair, 
And chilled me through. 

And one had raven tresses, and her face 
Was ghostly white; her eyes 
Were large with pain. 
Her mournful hand she drew with clinging grace 
Along my brow; my sighs 
Were sorrow's gain. 

And one's soft hair was ashen gray and fell 
A veil about my head, 
To hide our kiss. 
Ah, for cold Goldenhair I labor well ; 
With Raventresses wed, 
And love with this. 



39 



ANIMA MEA 

The chapel where I kneel is very small 
And silent; I can reach from wall to wall 
With arms outstretched ; the arching dome is high 
And dim, so it might touch the evening sky. 

There is a little altar, bare and white, 
Where burns a taper, with so faint a light 
That it but kisses darkness into dusk. 
I kneel alone, and breathe the taper's musk. 

Sometimes when I would dream, the tiny blaze 
So low will flicker, I can scarcely raise 
Through my wild terror, strength to pray; for 

then 
It burns quite fair and brilliantly again. 

So lonely there it is ! And yet I feel 

No loneliness; but watch alone, and kneel, 

Until I hear the silver tinkling call 

Of bells ; and then the Master in the hall. 



40 



SERENADE 

You spoke quite low; yet heard I plain, 

Who longed to hear. 
The night was purple on the swaying grain ; 
The shadows mocked the marble, rose-wreathed 
fane ; 

And there was fear. 
Yet jungle phantoms wailed in vain, 

For I am here. 

See! Love lies quavering in the tune 

Of my sitar. 
Love pants beneath the love-lorn, fading moon; 
Love lingers in the languorous soft croon 

Where brooklets are; 
The stars are pale — ah, love, come soon 

To take thy star ! 



41 



PRELUDES 

I 

She and I planted our rose gardens side by side — 
Tended them, waiting blue heavens and winds of 
the south ; 
She and I dreamed in the dusk what in spring would 
betide — 
Ah, the lost rose of her mouth! 

What matter then if our gardens were barren of 
flowers ? 
We who had tended our roses in winter and 
spring 
Roam in the wonder world-garden, defiant of 
hours — 
Love we possess like the perfume of roses unborn 
and the swallow awing! 

II 

The clouds came'up and hid the russet moon, 
And hid the little stars; and all the sky 
And you were dim and vague and far. 
Only the blind stream's croon, 

Darkness, a sense of wild storm-freedom nigh, 
And one bright star. 

I dreamed a little. So my sightless eyes 
Rested awhile upon that point of light, 
Sole sign of heaven and of silent blue 
In all the tapestried skies. 

Once we had loved to wander there at night 
. . . I made the star seem you. 
42 



Oh, bitter change ! Clouds came between 

The star and me. 

When I had thought a while, swift I arose 
Returning home, pondered what I had seen, 

Prayed as in ages I had not, on bended knee. 

Starbright, and all the heaven clouded! 
Shrouded, the last pale star. . . . 
Love wanes, when heavens close. 



43 



SONNETS 



Trembling, your lips met mine, and we were one. 

Night drew dim silence round about us there. 

Ah love, I heard time's whisper in the air, 
And saw stars die, and saw star life begun. 
Then the faint strain, the pulsing notes that run 

An alien octave of disguised despair. 

Your lips drew back, your soul sped up the stair 
Of song; our kiss, time's unity were done. 

Ah, had the voice but stilled! For then I heard 
The threnody. My arms fell; you were free. 

You listened, followed, gave no parting word; 
I turned, and darkness covered you from me. 

Years filled with song, I know song's every breath — 
Who would live, love not; who would love, kiss 
death. 



44 



II 

They laughed — and so I laughed, and went my way 
Among them; sought full lips that curved in 

sneers 
Beneath my kiss; that formed unsounded jeers 

In answer to my simple query. Day 

I gave to life, and in the night made gay, 
Buying narcotic tenderness, that tears 
Were still-born in my heart. No time for fears — 

My soul slept, seeing not the dawning gray. 

And then — and then I found you, in the spring; 

And saw you smile — enchanted, let your voice 
Wake echoes in my heart, when you would sing 

The soul-song, till I had no other choice 
Except to see the thing, and at your knee 
Bend penitent, an humble devotee. 



45 



Ill 

Midnight, and life through all the wood athrill — 
The little hidden forest folk that make 
Their mystic noises in the purpled brake; 

The winds that wander with the wandering rill. 

And then, your voice ... So all the wood 
grows still 
At once and hushed beneath the hazy moon 
With listening, that each note of the sweet tune 

Throb heart-deep, and the darkness have its fill. 

Would you had sung forever there! For when 
Your faint voice wavered to an incensed death 

Among the woodland flowers, the winds again 
Might wake, and all the world draw wistful 
breath, 

But I! Ah, I must wait, disturbed, and dumb, 

Till filling all the world with song, you come. 



4 6 



IV 

Love me! with the love that knows no fear! 

The love that laughs at temporary things; 
Whisper the soft words that I long to hear 

From your dear lips, and in my heart make sing 
A sweeter happiness than ever night — 

Dream pinioned, wistful night — may wing to 
me; 
And in your eyes, all mellowed with the light 

That knows no reckoning, may my eyes see 
My love triumphant; and in your warm breath 

Soul-heated in your sacred, secret heart, 
Eternal evidence of faith that death 

May sanctify, nor ever tear apart. 

Love me! and distant stars nor ancient seas 
Shall last my love's eternity, Louise! 



47 



I stood before you once, safe-mantled round 

With bold pretensions, bidding for your love. 
Yet, before yours, my own eyes sought the ground. 

You left me then, but drawing from above 
This wild determination, in my hand 

I grasped the mantle of my hidden shame 
And flung it from me. Look! Again I stand, 

Quivering in the wind of common blame, 
My soul stripped naked, frail, without relief 

From countless curious eyes that strive to see, 
And seeing, understanding not my grief, 

Are turned forevermore away from me. 

But you! ah, you must understand somehow! 
Then leave me, if you must — but love me, now! 



48 



VI 

Lost in the vast bewilderment of space 
You found me; bounded my infinity 
With slender arms of living ivory. 

Gave me to see my sunshine in your face ; 

Gave me to be my heaven's stars, the grace 
Relucent in your sigh's concinnity; 
Eyes for a dreaming dusk you yielded me, 

And lips to glow beneath my own lips' praise. 

Now is that bitter-sweet probation done ; 

And through the ether's azure-washed myrrh 
Of countless leagues, where angel pinions stir 

Symphonic interlude, my soul has won 
Love's one reward; and I have cast aside 
The stained cloak of years, to clasp my bride. 



49 



ON A PICTURE 

Her eyes are like twin pools of silent waters 
Within a forest, hedged by cypress trees, 
At night, when all the tempests and the heat, 
The white tumultuous heat of day, are over; 
When night has brought her coolness and her shade 
And the fair little moon, that climbs the heavens, 
Reflected in twin images upon 
The placid surface of the jetty pools. 

And so the depths are hidden ; only one 
May look upon them, note the wavering moon 
And all the stars of heaven there, yet guess 
The sombre fathoms where move sinister tides 
Beneath the perfect calm. And oh, the calm 
Of those still eyes is like a thought of death! 



50 



MY HEART'S SONG 

Once, I heard my own heart's song, 
Languorous, when the dusk was long. 

Who would keep a withered rose? 
When the flower is richly red, 
Yes. But when the rose is dead? 

Who would hoard heart-warming wine ? 
In the cup of graven gold, 
Leave it till it's sour and cold? 

Now, the crimson blossom blows; 
Now, the goblet's sweet is thine — 
Look, the fragrant petals close! 
And autumn's on the vine! 

So I heard my heart, and long 
Pondered on the pulsing song. 



5i 



ROSES 

I 

I kissed you once, and in my barren heart 
Roses sprang up, from other flowers apart — 
Roses that grew, and filled this heart of mine — 
Ah, was there not some kindred flower in thine? 

I whispered once my love, and in your eyes 
I proved the purple deepness of the skies — 
Fountains sprang up within this heart of mine — 
Ah, was there not some kindred spring in thine? 

II 

Your voice, far sweeter than the heavy scent 
Of perfume from slow-swaying censers, lent 
Itself unto the darkness and my prayer. 
You sang of God, and it seemed God was there. 

You sang of God, whose sanctuary light 
Gleamed radiant through the all-enfolding night 
Wherein I knelt. I prayed to God, 'tis true, 
But worshipped — ah, I worshipped only you. 

Ill 

See, love! the very trees are bowing low 
In your sweet presence, reverence to show 
To one whom every woodland flower, or clod 
Of lowly fern must think their forest god. 

And all these little beams that play about 
Your hair and eyes and dimples' luring rout — 
Ah! They but wonder, with the world and me, 
Why God created sun, and skies, and sea. 
52 



IV 

One time, in our fair youth, I wandered far 
With you, beloved — and for me no star 
Gleamed other than your scintillant, sweet eyes, 
That led me through an earthly paradise. 

In silence, now, and eagerness, I wait 
For your glad coming, at the fast-closed gate 
That love shall open, guiding you and me 
Into the farther heaven's eternity. 



There was a night of nights, when in my arms 
I held you, and your darkness-born alarms 
I stilled with whispered words. Ah, fair the night, 
And you my goddess — I, your acolyte. 

And now the moon, that roams the misty sky, 
And winds of night, that look for you, and sigh 
That you are gone, still whisper low to me, 
You are my goddess — I, your devotee. 

VI 

My love and I in the starlight, and the world all 
eerie fair, 

The crickets calling softly in the thickets every- 
where ; 

The haloed moon that's bringing benediction to the 
sight — 

And the wordless, sweet awakening to the love 
that's ours tonight. 

53 



Ah ! The little stars have hid them, where my eyes 
may never see, 

And the moon has fled, and taken all my happi- 
ness from me; 

And the crickets chirp a welcome to grey rain-clouds 
in the sky — 

For my love is but a memory — it's awakening, but a 
sigh. 

VII 

So long as there is dusk, that we may dream ; 
So long as suns may rise, or moons may beam ; 
So long as there is life, and after life 
While heaven is, shall we be man and wife. 

There is no thought that we may think apart ; 
No dream, but what we dream within one heart ; 
Our love, our happiness, we have as one. 
No thee or me; for us has life begun. 



54 



SONGS 
I 

In the silent winter 

Weary of the snow, 
We have longed for springtime 

When the roses grow. 
In the smiling springtime 

Rose-buds in the bower 
Brought us dreams of summer 

And the scarlet flower. 
In the panting summer 

Lo, our roses died. 
So we wept and parted ; 

So our hearts had lied. 



II 



The bees are humming, drowsy 

In the springtime of the day, 
Where a host of wide-eyed daisies 

Lie along the pasture way; 
And my heart is with the brooklets 

That melodiously run 
In the glory of your presence, 

Like the glory of the sun. 



55 



And at night when elfin moonbeams 

Dance among the swaying trees 
With a tremulous abandon 

To the singing of the breeze, 
Ah ! my heart is with the brooklets, 

Sighing low with sweet delight 
In the wonder of your presence, 

Like the wonder of the night. 



Ill 



You were my dream the other night, 
And oh, I dreamed of spring, 

And watched the swallow's eager flight, 
And heard a brooklet sing. 

But when I wakened, all alone, 
The clouds were gray and low, 

And all the little birds had flown 
Away before the snow. 

Ah, would my weary eyes might close 

Again a dreaming space, 
To open on the budding rose 

And sunshine of your face! 



56 



IV 

There is a winding road, they say, 

That leads the heart to Mandalay — 
To Mandalay and roses gay and oh, the sunlit sea! 

And so I searched the world around 

For jasmine and the golden ground 
Of Mandalay, but every day set vain and dismally. 

But oh, the world's a wondrous thing! 
For when the larks were first awing 
I saw at play a winsome maid who stopped and 
looked at me. 
I took her hand and kissed her lips 
And kissed her little finger tips — 
And soared away to Mandalay, agleam upon the 
sea! 

And now I sing my idle song 

Of Mandalay the whole day long — 
Of Mandalay and roses gay and oh, the sunlit sea! 

For does the sun begin to set, 

I start again — I can't forget — ■ 
And kiss her lips and finger tips, and she — she kisses 
me!" 



57 



THE MIRACLE 

Lord God, whose all-creating hand 

In flowing stream and restless sea 
And blossom-spattered meadow-land 

And every flower and every tree ; 
And in each secret human breast, 

And even in Thy heaven's blue, 
Has made so harshly manifest 

Thy miracle of two and two; 

Lord God, is this Thy pleasure then, 

To make a jest of all we deem 
Is virtuous and best in men? 

Must heaven scowl for every gleam 
Of sunlight? Must this very thought, 

Inevitable, seeming true, 
Be sacrilege? For Thou hast wrought 

Thy miracle of two and two. 

What mortal is there ignorant 

Of danger under ocean's peace? 
And all Thy multitudes descant 

Of fortune's whim and sun's caprice; 
And we who have been taught to mourn 

Thy Calvary, must we construe 
Thy justice in this crown of thorn, 

This miracle of two and two? 



58 



For one man has a heart to love, 

And loving, slays a maiden's soul; 
And one whose eyes still gaze above 

At Thee has vice his destined goal ; 
And one's transcending vision saw 

The beauteous, yet he failed to do 
His work of beauty through Thy law, 

Thy miracle of two and two. 

And one whose virtue rivals Thine 

When Thou wast man, is miserly; 
And one who worships at Thy shrine 

Is chained to hypocrisy. 
And there be those whose will is worth 

All worldly comfort, yet who rue 
The day that they were born on earth- 

Thy miracle of two and two. 

Must all whose lives are pure and fair 

To Thy desire be cold to kiss? 
A dreamer fail before despair? 

A lover battle cowardice? 
Can virtue never stand alone? 

Be vice inevitably due, 
I tremble at Thy judgment throne, 

Thy miracle of two and two. 



59 



Conceived in Thy most happy mood, 

I see all gloriously rise 
That Liberty by mortals wooed 

Who watched the wonder of her eyes. 
Nor knew the dagger of her breast 

They clasped, until it pierced them through. 
Lord God, does Paradise suggest 

This miracle of two and two? 

And all the better thought of man 

Through weary ages hoarded till 
We live in wonder greater than 

The wonder of the human will: 
With this our pomp and luxury 

In like degree does shame ensue ; 
And whoso stops to look must see 

Thy miracle of two and two. 

So do the lines of good and bad 

Progress in constant symmetry; 
And I whose heart has never had 

A dearer aim than love of Thee 
Can draw no image of Thy face, 

However soft the lines and true, 
Save cynicism thereon trace 

Thy miracle of two and two. 



60 



YSOLDE 

Ysolde sits in bowers green, 

Among the panting roses; 
And in her hair of golden sheen 

A poppy's bud reposes. 
Yet often when the days are long 

And Sun his might surpasses, 
Ysolde sings a piteous song 

Of brooks and dewy grasses. 

Ysolde sits and sings a song 

Of once and of a May-time 
And of a knight and of a wrong . . . 

All this is in the day-time; 
For when the moon is bright and beams 

And roses cast a shadow, 
Ysolde's tune is turned to dreams 

Of daisies in a meadow. 

Ysolde's roses mock the Christ, 

The poor white Christ of sorrow, 
With thorny branches interspliced 

A cross's shape to borrow. 
Ysolde's poppy seems a coal 

Of fire, as if to fashion 
The crimson scar upon her soul, 

The Judas-kiss of passion. 



61 



AN OLD MAN'S TALE 

I heard an old man draw his withered bow 
Over four sagging strings to sound a song 
One night, and as the sad notes sped along 
My heart, I asked him how the words might go. 
"All evilly," he answered me, "and slow. 
Once have I known them, with a febrile throng ; 
The tune is fair, but ah, the words are wrong." 
Wondering, said I then, "I, too, must know." 
And therewithal I wandered many years 
Singing of roses where the rose was not; 
Singing at last of briers through my tears, 
Until the tears had dried and I forgot. 
Only that now I stand as he before, 
Playing a song whose words I know no more. 



62 



NIGHT 

Night in the city has a sneaking pace, 

And comes when all's illumined, after dark — 
When all men sleep, and all the streets lie stark — 

Like peace upon a painted woman's face. 

Nor strolling watchmen in the market place 
Nor brothel brood in each sequestered park 
Supine in satiation fail to mark 

The Death that broods with trumpet and with 
mace. 

This is the city's horrid hour of night, 

When man hunts after man, and crime is great; 

And each awakening sweats cold with fright ; 
Hearts scream, though lips are inarticulate. 

Man has night's terror, through the primal plan 

Of human passion lusting after man. 



63 



REALIZATION 

Pale hands upraised against a leprous sky 
That floated lavender here and was fair; 

Black hands against a dead God's cheek — for I 
Have watched and waited in moon-silvered air; 

Red hands of blood! I saw, from where I lay, 
You falter, and your life encarnadine 

The mantle's white hem of a virgin day — 

And felt the stab and spurt, and knew you mine. 



6 4 



THE OLD GRAY GHOST 

An old gray ghost came into my house and wept, 
In an afternoon, when the stealthy night-ghosts 

slept. 
The gray day dimmed to night as her eyes' light 

dimmed 
In her eyes, all watery and blister-rimmed. 
And the old gray ghost's gray hand at her shrivelled 

throat 
Shook like the peak of a sail on a storm-worn boat 
In a gray, despairing sea; and the ragged crest 
Of a matted shawl hung over her sagging breast. 

"You have chosen," she said, "You are wise. — Ho, 
ho, you are fools! 

For the sin of life is a law untaught in schools; 

And a kiss is a coal of fire for a fiend's delight; 

And the day laughs wild, and night sighs unto night. 

You have chosen," she laughed. "Go to! You have 
yielded up 

To the lure of a poisoned wine in a broken cup! 

You have given a hope and a strength — you are all 
gone mad! — 

For a belly-full to the end that you might be sad! 

You have chosen!" she cried. "You are fools, 
where you might be sane, 

In a specious wisdom of pins for an empty gain. 

And oh, but you shall believe, when the life-blood 
dries, 

In the truth of the truth that I see with my blis- 
tered eyes." 



65 



And the old ghost shook with the rage of her rrter- 

riment, 
Seeing me grapple with fear and with discontent ; 
Till I said with the lips of my love, "You are wise 

— you have wept! 
Oh, lying fool! we have chosen and shall accept!" 



66 



THE LAUGH 

I think it was the laugh — that second laugh 
Of his, when we had ceased and all was still ; 
That laugh that came so suddenly and strange 
It seemed to strike a sleeping something harsh 
Within me, so I dropped the heavy glass 
And all the warm good wine was red upon 
My clothes. And then I laughed again; and May 
And he, the blond one, they laughed once more too. 
Funny, to laugh at that! The good red wine — 
But I had taken just too much, I guess, 
Enough to make the laughter. 

So I came 
Up to my room alone at last, and thought. 
And then, somehow, I looked around and found 
This picture. 

Well, it does seem queer ! So long 
I've gone without this, till I quite forgot 
About it. Surely years have passed since last 
I got it out — or no, I had it out, 
Upon my dresser there, where first the sun 
Would strike it in the morning. That was when 
The mornings used to find me open-eyed 
Awaiting them, and listening to the birds 
Chirping so questioningly, and the carts 
Bound for the markets, rumbling through the 

streets. 
And finally I'd rise, three hours or more 
Before the slumber passes from my eyes 
So heavily these mornings. So I'd go 
Shivering in the cold — for dawns are cold — 



6 7 



Quick to the dresser there, and look a bit 

On this . . . And then I'd dress, and when 

all dressed, 
I'd look at it again. . . . 

It's yellow now 
Around the edges; yellow too about 
The face. I used to kiss it there, I think. 

I wish it were in colors; then Yd see 
The tint of the blond hair, the very blue 
I used to dream was heaven, when I lay 
Within the love world of his arms; the pink 
Of the soft cheek, so silken like a girl's. 

Even the tie. I used to know his ties 
Quite well; and when he'd have a new T one, I 
Would criticize, and then he never wore 
The tie unless I liked it . . . 
Ha! ha! . . . 
Damn ! 
I've laughed so much of late, not half the time 
Knowing the reason even for the laugh. 



68 



THE MADMAN 

A madman lies within my heart, 
And laughs aloud with glee, 
To hear so impotently call 
God's legate, my heart's seneschal. 
Do sailors still the sea? 
(Oh, heaven, pity me!) 

A madman walks within my heart 
Monotonously, grim, 

Though softly, on her bended knee, 

A little lady makes her plea. 

The world is wild and dim! — 
(Oh, heaven, plead with him!) 

A madman races round my heart 

And cracks his thumbs, and leaps. 
He sings a weirdly tuneless tune — 
The earth's aswirl, the vault's jejune! 
And as he sings, and as he leaps, 
My writhing body deathward creeps. 



6 9 



A WIND BLEW OVER THE EARTH 
A Wind blew over the earth . . . 

It kissed a soft-eyed maiden in its flight; 

It kissed her breast, 

Her virgin breast — 
Who smiled and sang, for oh, her heart was light, 

To greet so fair a guest. 

And then because a Wind is but a wind, 
Sped onward. 

It met a man, sore-wearied with the heat, 

The white-hot skies, 

The ruthless skies. 
It blew the dust that burned his aching feet 

Into his smarting eyes. 

And then because a Wind is but a wind, 
Sped onward. 

It swept a pool such as the lily knows; 

The lily died, 

The willows died. 
And yet, the fragrant jasmine and the rose 

Sprang up where it had sighed. 

A Wind blew over the earth. 
And God looked wondering on its path of death, 
Saying, "I breathed . . . and they have cursed 
my Breath?" 



70 



THE MOTHER OF THE TRADE 

She basks in every public street — 

In every market place; 
Amid the traffic rush and heat 

She flaunts a foul disgrace. 
Up from the hell-brood round her feet 

She lifts her loathsome face. 

Laugh-agony is one she hugs; 

Another, Bitter-care — 
Grim twins that clamor at her dugs 

To suck the vileness there. 
Her matted hair is rank with sugs, — 

Her stench is everywhere. 

She takes no notice of the din ; 

But often lifts her head 
To listen, stopping silent in 

Her carnival of dread — 
Another body won for sin, 

A soul to torment led. 

And there be some who give no heed. 

But keep within the shade 
Of cool convention-walks that lead 

Forever past the jade! 
With her twin filthy screeching breed — 

The mother of the trade! 



7i 



ROSSETTI 

Thou gavest to the earth the pregnant seed 
Of thy fair flowers within a night of peace. 
Heaven's breath of life, by angels down the grece 
Of moonlight born, was moisture in their need. 
Father, it is their tilling that hath freed 
The blossom from the bud, and given release 
To fragrance that increases as increase 
The flowers, which yearly grow more fair indeed. 

And now dawn breaks above thy garden place, 
Which once was only barren ground, and shows 
Thy violets, and pauses on the face 
Of this thy lily and of this thy rose. 

Thy dawn — thy day, a year of centuries, 
Mellifluent with this and this and these. 



72 



MADRIGAL 

So it be thou and I, I care not, love — 

Winds may be wild and ravish mortal flowers; 
Winds may be sweet, and earthly bowers 
Radiant for our feet. 

So it be thou and I, I care not, love. 

So it be thou and I who roam the world, 

Ah, but the world is fair, what wind there passes. 
Each day a rose 'mong lisping grasses 
Crimsoning for us blows, 

So it be thou and I who roam the world. 



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PEACE 

Let us dream a moment, love, 

(There, your head upon my breast.) 
Now the sobbing passion's o'er, 
Now the little moon above 

Again is quiet, as before — 
Let us dream, and rest. 

How the heavens swayed and swirled! 
(Love, a gentle, little kiss.) 
In the sweet of our delight, 
How our hearts were wild, and whirled 
Away with us a swooning flight! — 
Now there's peace, and this. 

Love, our lips were pale with fire; 
Now the fires no longer leap; 
But this little, fragrant flame 
At the shrine of our desire 

Eternally shall burn the same. — 
(Close to me — and sleep.) 



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THE HOUR 

I roamed a million ages in that hour 

Or two, along the dim ways of the wood. 
Sometimes oppressive, sultry clouds would lower 
Black fear, where sometimes on each radiant flower 
Hope's sunshine spoke of good. 

I felt a million ages, when I thought, 

Of hell's white fire, a momentary pang 
Stretched through eternity, from hades brought 
In heaven's cause, while yet my mind knew nought, 
Why all the wood-birds sang. 

And when the tears came, then I drooped and fell, 

And sobbing, waited till, fair dawn begun 
At midday, came a voice as from a well 
Of peace, with silence shadowed, quick to tell 
Of you, and this our son. 



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MOOD 

God's heaven is militant in panoply 

Of cloud drawn grayly over festive blue 
That no light thought upflung may enter 
through ; 

And mankind scowleth in due mimicry. 

Through galleries of time my revery 
Soft-footed doth its silent flight pursue 
From drab obnubilation, life askew, 

To rest in thy forbidden sympathy. 

And sometime I shall meet thy sorrowed eyes, 
Hegesias, high warden of despair, 

And sometime drain thy draught to realize 
Love's failure, and thy fixed Medea-stare 

Of wisdom of the perjury that lies 

Beneath a world I wronged by deeming fair. 



Ah, but the skies are joyous in the spring, 
From dawn to dusk exuberantly blue; 
White-tufted oftentimes with clouds that do 

But wanton in heaven's zephyred merrying! 

That for my eyes; my heart's gone pilfering 
Time's rarest dainties cherished ages through 
With Phyllis. What's to harm if she's untrue? 

Here's Phoebe with an heart apassioning. 

Come up, old ribald Aristippus! Dance 
Fulfillment of thy sweet philosophy! 

Here's wine, the best that friars tope in France, 
That Bacchus were afamished but to see! 

Stub toes and frolic ; scribbling is a sin 

When spring seduces life we scribble in! 

7 6 



IMPRESSIONS 

I— Dusk 

The park is mauve, deserted; round about 
Impassive lantern eyes peer vaguely out 

Beneath tall trees within whose pensive leaves 
The winds are gathered in awed waiting rout. 

The church bell tolls, and grieves. 

Where sun has sunken, there do heavens bleed 
Life spreading crimson, higher atrophied 

In night's embrace; and first a star is seen. 
But where their soft amours vermillion breed, 

The waiting moon hangs green. 

And then just when the little men appear 

From slammed irreverent doors in whistling cheer 

Of hunger satisfied, the city's light 
At every corner in accord snaps clear. 

So it at last is night. 

U— Night 

Along a sanded alley hesitant 

Between vast hemlock and distorted plant 

Slow from the corner wavers lantern light, 
To where the fountain, terrorized, apant, 

Points to the infinite. 

A silent limousine illumined goes 
Along the pavement languidly, morose; 

And there a woman's startled at the toll 
Of sudden midnight, laughs, and draws gay clothes 

About a flesh-bouncT soul. 
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Beside the fountain's frantic pale dismay, 
In sleep harassed by shattered nerves' affray, 

Affrighted by the bat that round him flits, 
His dollar hoarded toward his mind's decay, 

The lotus-eater sits. 

777 — Virgin Day 

The last step stilled of swift latescent night, 
Sunrise a thought, death permeates the light 

Grown cold where not one pavid zephyr blows; 
With its ascetic, unemotioned white, 

Rebukes the scarlet rose. 

Squat chimneys drift dim anguine wisps of smoke 
Upon parturient heavens, that provoke 

The city's throats to hideous screech of glee; 
Lack-luster men, each shivering in his cloak, 

In groups pass listlessly. 

A ragged urchin, hands in pockets thrust, 
Beside the bench discovers in the dust 

A cigarette discarded by its slave; 
Among the agued hemlocks sighs a gust 

Prophetic of a grave. 



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MELISE 

Where do you go in your golden trireme 

At the will of the anguine breeze? 
What is your song to the suns that gleam 

Over inaurate seas? 
Who now is the prince of a red regime 
For a moment uplifted, untrammelled, supreme 
In the green of your glances that glow in the dream 

Languidly, Melise? 

You have given your fragrance of roses in dew 

And of lotus and ambergris 
From fairy flung tresses of black you undo 

For the prurient wind's caprice; 
Have you never a thought that the wind is untrue? 
Look down at the waves that are nevermore blue ; 
They are yellow with shallows of shipwreck and 
rue 

And of bitterness, Melise. 

Sit you soft in your bower of poppy and myrrh; 

Dream anew with each fevered breath! 
Give your fatuous sails to the breezes that stir 

On the gaping sea white with despair, 
Like a lion of lust that you fondle to purr 

With your lecherous hands in its hair — 
What will you do when its tempests occur? 
Dream of love in your bower of poppy and myrrh ; 

Dream anew with each fevered breath ? 

Melise, it is death. 



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WORMS 

Great God, we pray thee for thy mercy's grace 
Be blind, nor let thy earthward gaze begin 
To touch mankind, but rest above our din 

On joyous feathered choristers that trace 

Melodious celestial azure ways; 

Lest chaos be conceived again within 
Thy perlustration of the wrinkled sin 

Upon the earth's obese sardonic face; 

Where each man's constituted deity 

To censure deeds he does by others done ; 

Proclaims the curse with mocking sherried lips ; 

Sallacious, counsels callous chastity; 
And hypocrite reformers one by one 
Blaspheme the name of thy apocalypse. 



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THE DEATH OF HEGESIAS 

Whose philosophy was sternly 
repressed as inducive to suicide. 

Give Socrates due thanks! His wisdom's might 

Hath furnished sciolist a vague delight, 

Hath filled slow contemplation's goblet full 

With seeming happiness attainable; 

Give him due meed of praise. But clearer mind 

Must hesitate at phrases thus designed 

For lesser intellect; must candidly 

Occlude the self, give opened eye to see 

How life with sorrow is parturient; 

How meditation's moribund intent 

Doth vanish at a song from loved lip, 

And charlatan's abstraction-peace doth slip 

Unhindered at the fescennine caress 

Of stare-eyed Venus. Reason must confess 

A tardy resipiscence, when assailed 

With life, and not what life should be, but failed. 

Good citizens, here's no derision meant; 
I only seek the full establishment 
Of resignation to this life's caprice, 
Wherein no questing mortal may have peace. 
Life's but an hollow infinite of woe 
That man doth enter, look upon, and so 
Once more become immortal, being dust. 
Injustice is the guerdon of the just; 
Repining, recompense of venery; 
Sharp thorned, the laurel wreath of chastity, 
No less the jasmine of concupiscence. 



81 



And wealth? there be some leaving, going hence 
From undesired truth to hoarded wealth 
And revelry; belike to shameless stealth 
Is due their gold accumulation's sweet. 
Do ye conceive their prospering complete, 
Who live in fear of kindred robber's knife? 
Good citizens, they've anguishing to wife. 

Stay murmurings; we're never enemies, 

Hegesias and erring Socrates. 

Alike we do life's promises disdain, 

Deem life alaugh a grievous life insane, 

Deem life aweeping inconsiderate ; 

But I say life dry-eyed is desperate. . . . 

Where am I, in the darkness and alone 

And prostrate on this whirling floor of stone? 

Mid pillar arms stupendous, vanishing 

Up where far heaven's stars are gathering 

In shadows? Why, I thought at Syracuse 

I daunted parvanimity's abuse, 

Upon the portico in Zeno's place. 

And here I lie, deserted, cold and numb, 

And shudder when my scattered senses come 

Again with memory of the last disgrace ; 

How prating sophists did exacerbate 

A laughing populace to witless hate; 

How I was silenced and was banished; 

With beggars casting carrion on my head, 

With mocking escort in impassioned rout, 

How Athens, sneering Athens, cast me out! 



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I thirst ... I almost thought 'twas water 
near, 

That winnowing of vampire wings that veer 

And swerve in sickening circles like the skies. . . . 

A little water, for a man who dies 

Alone, forgotten by life's polyglot 

Of little friends, great Zeus! . . . But I for- 
got; 

That's happiness, and happiness is not. 

I know this little place I wandered to 

In my delirium and mortal rue — 

The little temple, white among the trees 

That swirl as though there really were a breeze. 

And here's an old disgruntled goddess, left 

Like poor Hegesias, who is bereft 

Of all a man calls good, and now of breath ; 

She starved for worship, I for meat, to death. . 

I've wandered here before, and knew my way, 

With Pallon, youthful then as young the day; 

And that was when I trembled hesitant 

At truth's dark door. The woods were palpitant 

With vernal life, and wood-birds' passing love, 

And hemlock's green was azure-swept above. 

Then suddenly we left the pleasant shade 

And came unwitting to this silent glade 

And silent ivied temple. Roses grew 

About its pillars; bees sped humming through, 

Assembling in its inmost honied fane; 

Their murmuring seemed praises told again 

By low- voiced devotee; the rose perfume 

Awakened ancient incense in the room. 



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Long time we rested there; between us passed 
Grave thought on this and that, until at last 
Came twilight, and we rose and said good-bye; 
For he returned to Athens thence, and I 
To Corinth. . . . There of my discovery 
I spoke at length, and hundreds welcomed me 
And listened for a week, and then did frown, 
Insulted me, and drove me from the town. 
That was the first. . . And on its heels I heard 
How deeply my despair had Pallon stirred, 
Until he drained his death in poisoned wine. 
Pallon, the gall of calumny is mine 
Thou hast avoided by being brave, 
And seeking unremembrance in the grave. 

Would God my one disciple and my friend 

Could be with me, with sympathy attend 

My death! Could bring a draught, and hold my 

hand, 
And listen to me speak, and understand! 
That would be little peace ! . . . But I forgot ; 
I live, and living, happiness is not. . . . 

Just such a night it was, serenely dark, 
When last at Antioch I disembarked, 
An outcast from this world of merriment, 
To supplicate some measure of content 
Beside my father's hearth. And on the ways 
I traversed, travellers would group and gaze 
Upon me, pointing, cursing, whispering 
Heard rumors of the abominable thing 
That caused my just disfame; the vile disgrace 
I came to flaunt in Antioch's pure face. 
And all the lads I played with carelessly 

8 4 



In youth, matured, refused to welcome me, 
And passed me by with haughty calloused eyes, 
And cloaked my grief in impudence's guise. 
And when at last I ventured to approach 
My father's house, forewarned that I had come, 
By gossip throat, to vilify his home, 
He greeted me with censure and reproach; 
And all the neighbors, friends of mine and more 
I knew not, watched him drive me from his door, 
And seizing stick and stone pursued my flight 
From Antioch into the impotent night. 
Had he received me, though the world should 

not! — 
But that were happiness, and I forgot. . . . 

Just such another night, serenely still, 
And in a garden incomparable 
At Antioch's gateway once I strayed along, 
And breathed the sweet of Aphrodite's song. 
A many years have dragged an anguished path 
Throughout the world, and still my memory 
Doth hold the dream, and in it sorrow hath 
Above all sorrow life hath granted me. 
I see her eyes again burn breathlessly, 
And take the inaurate tresses richly massed 
Upon her head and hold them to my face, 
And kiss them first the kiss that was my last. 
We sat within a little fragrant place 
Where swaying cypress cast its purpled shade 
On grasses sensuously interlaid 
Beneath us for a matting. So her hand 
I took, and spoke my love, and made demand 
In gentle, choking, whispered interlude 
Between soft sighs and pauses understood. 
She loved me, found ineffable the thought, 
85 



And told the love in kisses I had sought. 
And all life stayed, until dissevered 
Our kiss, and dawn looked slowly from the east 
Whose mogul might go hungry for my feast; 
And in a week they told me she was dead — 
They told me how my only love was dead. 

Had she but lived, then I should have remained 

At Antioch and married her, and gained 

What careless men consider good repute, 

And left the world to Socrates astute. 

Great Zeus, had she but lived, I should have died 

Her kiss upon my lips, and death defied ; 

And on the stone they would have carven in 

"Hegesias; a good man hath he been." 

And Antioch should never so defame 

And throw aspersion on my guiltless name . . . 

But wherefore cometh this pale revery? 

For that were happiness, and cannot be. 

A star fell then, one little star of white 
That streaked its way across the heaven's peace; 
And now 'tis gone, and all its brothers please 
To swirl in undiminished wild delight. 
So have I fallen, and my quick demise 
Will leave no tear in disapproving eyes, 
Will leave no record on man's firmament. 

I wonder, did the little star dissent 
In some vague question of eternity; 
And did its brothers damn it utterly? 
Perchance it said, "Why laugh? Approaching day 
Must cover pleasance with a pale dismay. 
Our thoughtless laugh cannot ameliorate 
The destined evil of our starry fate, 
86 



Will yield us for the end without repair 
We suffer, wild regret and grim despair." 
Perchance they answered, they of banal phren, 
"We laugh in night; day cometh not again." 
And then perchance they turned their ingrate ire 
Upon the hapless star that caused them doubt; 
And so I saw the momentary fire 
Of its departure when they cast it out. . . . 

Ah, well, while man's a man 'twill be the same; 
And ignominy's due, and cold disfame, 
To whomsoever draws the cerement 
Of truth upon man's vices and content. 
And it were highest folly to incline 
An ear for laughter to Hegesias' whine, 
Forswear his strumpet's clever kiss, invoke 
Restraint and clear disaffectation's yoke, 
Forget a maudlin goblet, as I taught, 
And evanescent pleasure set at naught. 
For it were happiness, were mankind wise, 
Possessing ears to hear and seeing eyes. . . . 

Sure death is good, and this fit place to die, 

Alone we two, the goddess there, and I, 

And quiet. All the bees have sought their hive, 

And death herein is all that is alive . . . 

And yet I have a terror of the night, 

And death that waits, and is not expedite. . . . 

Ah . . . would I were in Athens once again, 

Surrounded by my enemies — but men! 

In obloquy, meek object of the rude 

Inclement anger of the multitude: 



87 



A target for their enmity; at length 
Impavid victim of the coward's strength! 
That would be happiness! . . . But I forgot; 
I die in horror — happiness is not. . . . 



88 



